


A Second Chance

by TMNT_Raph_fan



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre Season 2, Season 1 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMNT_Raph_fan/pseuds/TMNT_Raph_fan
Summary: What if Cliff confessed the truth to his daughter after Bump's wake? What if their reunion went a little sweeter? What if Rita helped?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	A Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I loved what happened in the second season between Cliff and Clara, I couldn't help but think what could've happened if Cliff had told her the truth when he wanted to, when he was in a much better head space to do so. And thus, this is my take on a what if scenario.

Cliff entered the Salty Bump drenched in swamp water. He walked up and stood next to one of the bar's high, single tables, scanning the room for his daughter, Clara. He spotted her from across the bar just as she noticed him.

"I'll be right with you," she called to him while collecting some dirty dishes from another table before quickly disappearing into the back.

Cliff let out a nervous breath, or at least the sound of one. "Oh, fuck. Okay. Here we go. I can do this." He looked down at his hand cradling the golden watch he had just fished out of a gator's stomach. The sight of his robotic digits, perfectly inhuman like the rest of his body, extinguished what little courage he had managed to muster.

"Fuck me, no I can't." he sharply chastised himself, barely holding a whisper. He was about to place the watch on the table and make a quick escape when Clara suddenly reappeared in front of him, almost as fast as she had vanished minutes earlier.

"What can I get for ya?" She asked in a practiced customer service tone. Cliff could tell she was put off by his appearance despite believing it was just a costume. He inwardly berated himself for not leaving when he had the chance, now having no choice but to confess the truth.

"Well, uh, I," he began awkwardly, slowly extending his hand out to her.

Confusion creased Clara’s brow as the unease rose within her gut, but when her eyes cautiously found the item in his palm they lit up with recognition. She reached for it, tentatively removing it from the robot man's hand. Wiping away the swamp and gator gunk, she searched purposely for proof that this was indeed the very same gold watch she had given her adoptive father years ago. And then, flipping it over, she found the engraving on the back she had hoped to see:

_To dad. You're my hero._

Clara looked up at Cliff in disbelief. "How? Why?"

"I wanted you to know how much I still care, how sorry I really am." he confessed. Confusion returned to her face and he let out another artificial breath, his whole body fidgeting with nerves. "Okay, here we go. I'm your dad. The one that died over 30 years ago, except I didn't actually die." He hesitated after dropping the bomb when he saw her understandably pull back. "I know this is fucking weird, but it's true. My brain was the only part of me that survived and a scientist put it in this fancy tin can, so now I’m fucking robodad. I know I haven't been around for the past 30 years, which is super shitty of me, and I'm certainly not expecting anything from you, but I just want you to know that I'm sorry. For everything."

The silence that followed his less-than-adept confession was deafening. He could see Clara struggling to grasp this news, her facial expressions cycling through a range of heavy emotions like a spinning prize wheel. Her mouth opened and closed in search of the right words with which to respond, eventually deciding not to at all. 

"I have to go," she told him meekly after a prolonged stalemate, then darted away behind the bar and into the back before Cliff could say anything more. He reached out to her with a desperate hand as she retreated, but his feet refused to budge. He stood there awkwardly, staring at the doorway through which his daughter had disappeared. Feeling the judgmental stares of the other patrons, he declared this endeavor a failure and took his leave. 

Cliff exited the bar, his head hanging low as he stepped into the thick Florida air; not that he could feel it on his metal skin. He spotted Rita a short way down the road, standing among the various cars parked rather crookedly on both sides of the street. She was wandering purposely with her hand above her eyes and he figured she was searching for him.

"Hey," he said flatly as he came up behind her.

Rita jumped with a start and whipped around, then rested a gentle hand on her pounding chest when she saw who had startled her. "My goodness, Cliff. There you are. I expected you back from the swamp ages ago. Where have you been?”

"I told Clara." he announced unenthusiastically. 

For a moment Rita's face lit up, proud of her friend for taking the leap and reconnecting with his kin, but she quickly realized from his sagging posture and dejected tone that it hadn’t gone quite as he’d hoped.

"Oh, dear. What happened?" She asked softly, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. For a long moment Cliff didn't say a word or move a metal muscle. Rita began to fear he had fried his brain for real this time until she heard the reassuring whirring of working mechanics.

Cliff lifted his head just enough to look her in the eye. "Let's just go home." He brushed past her, heading toward a pay phone so they could call Jane and ask for Flit to teleport them back.

Rita felt awful. She knew how greatly Cliff cared about his daughter, how much he grieved her when he believed she was dead, and how hopeful he had become when he found out she wasn't. He had been so afraid of ruining his second chance with her that he had almost let it slip by altogether. Given the way things played out, he was likely thinking how better off they both would have been if he hadn’t come at all. Rita couldn't let it end like that, not after everything Cliff had gone through.

"Give me a minute." she said as she quickly strutted into the bar, deciding not to wait around for Cliff’s reaction. 

Ignoring the laser-like stares of curious diners, she walked right up to the bar and grabbed the bartender’s attention. "Excuse me, may I borrow a pen and scrap of paper?" She flashed her famous starlight smile, a trusty tool that had earned her many rewards in the past. The bartender nodded, returning Rita's smile with a little less twinkle, and slid a pen and napkin across the bar. "Thank you, dear." She quickly scrawled out a brief message, and when she finished she held the note out to the bartender. "Would you be so kind as to deliver this to Clara?" 

The bartender hesitated, running her eyes over Rita pensively as she debated an answer. Finally, she held out her hand and accepted the note from the former movie star. "Sure."

"Bless you." Rita told her. "You're a life-saver." The bartender returned her compliment with an indifferent shrug and a nod. After one more star-stunning smile Rita exited the establishment and rejoined with Cliff, whose still, metal face looked back at her with all the emotion of an empty teapot.

“What was that about?” he asked suspiciously.

In an effort to conceal her interference, Rita gave him a modest smile. “Oh nothing, dear. Just an old fan looking for an autograph.”

…

Three days passed since Cliff and Rita returned from gator country. They had been immediately swept up into a series of stressful events involving abducted teammates, last minute rescues and hospitalized allies. All of this was quickly overshadowed by the unexpected death of Flex Mentallo’s wife, Dolores, and it was decided that a couple days be spent to mourn and recover before continuing their search for the Chief. It was well needed rest they all deserved, each relishing the quiet solitude that seemed to come so rarely these days. Cliff was the only one aching for a distraction. Amidst the suffering calm, the sting of his daughter’s rejection was at the forefront of his mind. Unable to coax his thoughts elsewhere while attempting to relax, his heartache soon turned to frustration; frustration at the Chief for lying to him, frustration at Bump for being a better father than him; frustration at himself for being the cause of it all.

His anger eventually subsided one day when Rita came by his room. She found him lying flat on the floor like an automaton pancake, staring blankly at the ceiling (unsurprising, since all of his stares tended to be blank since the accident). Having brought with her a little good news, she couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her cheeks in excitement to lift the man’s spirits.

“Knock knock,” she said cheerily without actually rapping on Cliff’s door. His head twitched indifferently, the only indication that he had heard her at all.

“I come bearing _good_ news.” Rita continued enthusiastically. 

“For people like us, good news just means it doesn’t qualify as _bad_ news,” Cliff said bitterly, waving an arm in the air as if to shoo her away.

Rita’s smile broke along with her composure. “Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself for five minutes?” she blurted, upset that his pessimistic attitude was ruining a perfectly fine morning. “I have _actual_ good news. Clara called.”

Cliff sat up abruptly, staring at Rita with what she assumed was disbelief. “What!? How? I didn’t…” his voice trailed off as the not-so-shocking realization hit him square in the iron forehead. None of Rita’s fans would recognize her in this day and age, and she certainly would not be able to go around telling people who she actually was. The full extent of her obvious lie dawned on him and he felt like an absolute fool for falling for it. “You weren’t signing an autograph. You gave Clara the number to the manor.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Rita with a rueful smile, trying not to look too proud of her deception. Sensing his feelings of betrayal, she decided not to make matters worse by fessing-up about the little message she wrote along with the number: _Please give him a chance_. Instead she found herself diving into a longwinded explanation. “Learning that your long-lost father has returned from the grave can be a traumatizing experience, especially when he returns…not quite as he was before. I figured she just needed time to process everything, so I left our number for when she was ready to talk. And lo and behold, that day is today.” 

Cliff just sat there, staring up at her with an expression that was impossible to read. In a strange act of begging for forgiveness, Rita swept her arm out as she gave a little curtsey, the 50’s-era actress in her never truly shying away.

Just when she thought he would angrily dismiss her, Cliff swiftly got to his feet and rushed toward the door himself. “What are we fucking waiting for then!? Let’s go!” he announced eagerly, hurriedly ushering Rita out the door.

Forgiven and flabbergasted, Rita was not expecting her role in all this to continue beyond playing the messenger. “We? Wouldn’t you rather have Jane accompany you?”

Cliff shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m still giving her some space with everything that happened in the underground. And besides, why shouldn’t it be you? You’re the reason this is happening at all.”

Rita thought for a moment under Cliff’s pleading stare and it became painfully apparent that she hadn’t properly thought things through. She didn’t stop to consider how Cliff might react if and when Clara called, and she certainly hadn’t anticipated driving all the way back down to Florida with him to see how things played out, but Cliff was right. This turn of events was set off by her meddling actions. Knowing that she owed him this favour, she grudgingly decided an impromptu road trip could be a nice change of pace for them both. 

“Very well.” She said with a dramatic sigh. “We’ll leave immediately.”

“Fuck yes!” Cliff cheered, pumping his fists in the air. Following Rita’s lead, they headed to the bus and hopped in with Cliff in the driver’s seat. Given his history with racing and Rita’s reputation for granny-slow driving, this was the only logical arrangement for getting to their destination in a timely manner.

“Here we go!” Cliff shouted zealously as he shifted the bus into gear. “Best. Fucking. Day. Ever!”

…

Hours later the duo arrived at the humble café with outdoor seating where Clara had agreed to meet. After finding a lucky spot to park only a block away, Cliff and Rita spotted Clara seated at one of the umbrella-shaded tables, nervously sipping at her drink and Cliff suddenly felt like a rattling bucket of bolts.

Rita took note of the sudden clattering that filled the bus. “There’s no need to be nervous, Cliff. You’ve already done the hard part. She knows who you are and wants to talk to the real you. That’s a good sign.”

“But what if I still manage to fuck it up?” he retorted, revealing his distress. “Knowing me, I _will_ manage to fuck it all up. I’m just one, big, inevitable fuck up!”

“No, you are not.” Rita told him sternly while slapping his shoulder. “The Cliff I know is a good man and a caring father. The only way you could “fuck it up” is by not going at all. Now pull yourself together and go talk to your daughter.”

Cliff absorbed her mom-like pep talk and stared at her silently, knowing that she was right. He eventually turned his gaze forward again, but still made no move for the door. Rita watched him expectantly, swaying her arms at her sides impatiently. And then, out of nowhere, Cliff performed the breathing exercise Rita had shown him last time they were in Florida, and she had to suppress a satisfied smile.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” he whispered to himself encouragingly before exiting the bus, Rita giving him a comforting pat as he went.

With clunky strides, Cliff ignored the prying eyes of others on the patio and lingering in the street and steadily approached the table where Clara was seated. She looked up, giving him an awkward smile, but neither spoke.

Cliff was the one to break the silence. “Uh, hey.”

“Hi,” she returned.

Cliff visibly straightened, overjoyed that she was actually talking to him.

“So, uh,” he began as he took the seat across from her. “How do you feel about all this?” He loosely gestured at himself.

Clara fidgeted with her drink as she considered an answer. “Well, it’s … definitely weird.”

“Oh, absolutely. No argument there. It’s weird for me and I’ve been living with it for 24 years.”

“24?” Clara asked, confusion playing in her eyes as she looked up at him. “But the accident was 31 years ago.”

“It took 7 years for the Chief to get this body working.” Cliff explained. “It was kinda like being in a coma.”

“The Chief,” said Clara, testing out the name. “he’s the man that saved you?”

“Yeah. Well, he saved my brain at least.” Cliff tapped his head with a clang to emphasize. Clara let out an awkward chuckle, still unsettled by the thought of her dad being reduced to nothing but his encephalon preserved in a crude-looking metal shell. 

They let the light moment hang in the air for a while. Then, unable to put off her most pressing question any longer, Clara took a sip of her drink and asked, “Why did it take you this long?”

Cliff lowered his head. He knew this question was coming but still dreaded his answer. 

“I was told you died in the accident,” he confessed. “and I stupidly believed it, no questions asked. I should’ve looked into it, found out the truth sooner and reconnected with you…” His voice trailed off, still ashamed by his blind acceptance of the lie he was told.

Clara heard the pain in his tone and her expression softened. The irony of the situation was almost humorous. They had each thought the other dead for decades, and while they both grieved, this man had been carrying around incredible guilt over the accident. She could understand him, after all those years of pain and suffering, wanting a second chance to be in her life. It would undoubtedly take time to rebuild their relationship, but Clara found herself willing to try.

She reached out her hand and placed it gently on Cliff’s, unbothered by the cold, roughly welded joints.

“You can’t blame yourself for being lied to.” she said. “What matters most is that you’re here now, and that counts for something.”

Cliff looked up at his daughter, wishing he could shed tears for her. New hope surged within him, accompanied by the few precious memories he had left of her as a young girl. They could never go back to that time, but he reveled in the idea that they could start anew, right now.

“I want to make up for lost time.” He said sincerely. “To earn the right to be your dad again.”

“I’d like that too.” said Clara, her smile as warm and comforting as the glowing sunset behind them.


End file.
